Soldiers and Men
A/N: Mild spoilers for 1.04. This was originally inspired by the fact that I felt so sorry for d'Artagnan having to make himself look like a complete idiot to the captain for Aramis' sake that I wanted to do something to remedy it and this is the result. The quote is from Criminal Minds. Unbeta'd so the mistakes are completely mine.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of it! Many thanks to the actors, writers and all of the wonderful people over at the BBC for creating characters that continually capture my imagination and inspire me to write.
The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love and to be greater than our suffering.
- Ben Okri
Treville let out a sigh as he rubbed his hand over his face once more. It was finally done: Savoy and France were now bound in every way, an everlasting peace. He snorted – everlasting until the next thing: next dynasty, next assassination, next perceived slight. A low, humourless sound escaped Treville's throat as he thought of what the next time would cost.
'Twenty of our friends murdered!'
The anguished accusation had pierced his heart like a dagger, the name of each man he'd sent echoing in his ears. He prayed that he would not be present when the next time came, for though he tried to claim ignorance he knew that even knowing the truth he likely would have chosen the same. 'We're soldiers.' Aramis had said. The unspoken truth hanging between them – that they were soldiers before men. Ultimately, expendable pawns of which it was his duty to choose between. Shaking his head, he stood up from his desk and began to pace, trying to release some of the tension and anxiety that had built up over the duke's visit.
Finally, he found himself at the window overlooking the yard; the familiar sound of the clanging of swords and men sparring helped to put him at ease. Then, suddenly, above it all floated a familiar laugh, instantly recognizable as Porthos. Treville felt his heart clench as the thought of Porthos instantly brought to his mind the three best of his regiment. Athos, Porthos, Aramis – The Three Inseparables. An incredible team that he'd almost destroyed before it even had a chance to begin. Closing his eyes he silently began to recite the names of the men he'd sent to slaughter, for the first time including Marsac's name and ever grateful that Aramis' name was not among them. He opened his eyes as a knock at the door drew his attention.
"Come," he said, returning to his desk.
"You wanted to see me, sir," came the familiar voice of his newest recruit from just inside the room.
"Yes," replied Treville, motioning for d'Artagnan to come forward. He watched as the young man tentatively entered the room, stopping a good distance from the desk, shifting nervously. "I just thought you might like to know that the man who attempted to assassinate the duke is dead."
"I see," answered d'Artagnan keeping his face carefully neutral. He looked to the ground as the captain continued stare at him with a scrutinizing gaze.
'He's a poor liar,' thought Treville, though he could not bring himself to deem that a fault. He held back a sigh as he looked over the young man. A boy, really, who'd somehow had simultaneously seen far too much and yet still understood so little.
"It's a hard life, soldering," began Treville, stepping out from behind his desk, "no easier than any other path." He had to keep his own expression neutral as the boy's head shot up, fire and determination filling his dark eyes.
"Perhaps," replied d'Artagnan after a moment of silence, "but we all have our calling and our duty."
"And what duty would that be?" asked Treville, almost sure of the answer.
"To protect the King and France and to give my life for them if necessary," proclaimed d'Artagnan with the utmost conviction.
Treville nodded before abruptly turning away to face the window again. He resisted the urge to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat as a pang struck his heart that someday, perhaps even someday soon, he'd be forced to send this boy to his death. To be slaughtered like an animal, with nothing but a plot and a simple marker among hundreds to show for his sacrifice. Honestly, it was the best any of them could hope for, save for the off chance of surviving to retirement on a poor pension. But the odds of that were far worse than long, and a part of the captain wished that he could persuade the boy to choose a different path.
"And to stand by my brothers." D'Artagnan's voice stirred the captain from his reverie and as he looked over he watched as the young man closed the gap between them, "And to follow my orders, wherever they may lead," he continued, giving the captain a pointed look.
'Perhaps he understands more than I gave him credit for.' For a moment, blue met brown then he nodded and turned back to the window. Out of the corner of his eye he saw d'Artagnan nod before turning to exit. "By the way," called Treville before the young man completely left the room, "you should consider getting your boots re-soled. We wouldn't want another man to get away due to a lack of traction," continued the captain, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"Of course, sir," replied d'Artagnan, a small smirk on his face, "thank you for the advice."
Treville allowed himself a small chuckle before waving the boy out of the room and turning back to the open window, breathing in the cool air. "What did the captain want?" Treville heard Porthos' voice question from below.
"Nothing," replied d'Artagnan, "just passing on some advice regarding proper footwear and chase procedures." Silence followed but in his mind the captain could picture fond smiles and amused looks shared between the men, and he could not help but smile as he listened to Porthos propose that the group go for drinks and as he watched them leave the garrison together.
Three were quickly becoming four and the captain marveled at how men that were somehow completely different and yet so alike had found each other. Different backgrounds but similar stories – all bathed in tragedy. And yet each risen above; had chosen a path of service and hardship, of duty and honour; and had, despite everything, opened themselves to the bonds of friendship and brotherhood, even knowing how it would likely end. Closing his eyes he sent a silent prayer out to any power that would hear him: to watch over his musketeers, his soldiers and men, and for his four who he was certain would now and forever be the greatest of them all.